Unmasking The New Me
Ladies and Gentlemen, it's
time to start fresh. Through some dedicated research about becoming a member of HubPages, and did a small count on how many hubs that I have published, I did another bit of research on top of that research, and it was only to get a read on what topics that I had written about and how people loved them. Your mouth will fly open when you read the answer: Love Topics Dealing With Me Sharing Valuable Romantic Tips to One and All--won going away.
Don't Worry, Friends
I knew going in that I was and have always been a bit eccentric, but to monopolize a hot topics and the background--Love, Romance, Dating, Marriage, and the occasional Love Tips for Valentines Day. That one went over as smooth as homemade grape jelly over hot cathead biscuits.
and before I started writing "this" hub, I did a whole lot of soul searching. A lot. It occurred to me that during all of the hubs and love tips, "I" was the one way back in high school, and further back who looked and acted like and came on like a Blue Ribbon winning Idiot. I am not trying to funny. I've also done a whole lot of foolish, time-killing when readers (then and now) have lives to live, not sit back after a tough day only to have your companion shove one of "my" idiot hubs into your face. What was I think
Then by looking at photos of myself from all of my school days and when I was married I kept arriving at the same road sign: IDIOT AHEAD! This is the absolute, bottom line truth. Does it hurt? You bet it does! Am I hurting now? Some. Am I going to change some things with my life? COUNT ON IT!
Did you notice where I have written a few things in ALL capitals? That is just one of the broad and drastic changes that you can depend on when you read (this and all of my hubs or personal narratives. I want to write things that you appreciate. Pieces where you can find a nugget or two of information that will help you in some way or the other. And some comedy too. I do not think that I am attempting to climb the Empire State Building with my toenails. I ain't that dumb.
I guess that the number one thing about me that I need to address is how I "did" come off as a blaring idiot--a person who is laughed "at," not with. And it felt okay in the beginning, but when the fool things started biting my butt, I felt like I had just sat in a nest of Yellow Jackets. NEVER do this, friends.
One person who did not come off as a blaring idiot was the late Dr. Hunter S. Thompson. Incidentally, I am reading one of his best efforts: Hell's Angels, and how he spent a year riding with this gang of motorcyclists and then turned over his diary to his publisher and it sold enough that he didn't have to eat bologna for dinner for a very long time.
Another thing about Thompson that you might appreciate. He never took crap from anyone--whether it was vocal or written and only out to slam his character or career, he threw it away or threw it in the trash. I have, for years, envied the nerve of Dr. Thompson.
And now comes the main section of this personal narrative, the part where you can sink your teeth into my thinking on how my life might have been if I had only stopped putting on the idiot shoes.
From the time I started wanting to be friends, I wasn't successful. Those of my early childhood were rude, ugly to me, and I stood and took it. Why? One word: Fear. I had "a" fear that my dad would beat my butt for causing someone any hurt or pain. He never backed me when I was in the right. I can remember those long, drawn-out lectures he would give me at home or in our car when a guy of my age and size would curse me out for only speaking to them. I ask you. Was that any reason for me to suffer a butt-whipping? I remember only saying something nice to the kids like I am talking about. And no matter what I would say in my defense, my dad who was much like Perry Mason, could engineer the conversation to turn back on me to where "I" was the criminal, not the bully.
This past week two guys about 20, came to our home around 9 pm and they are supposed to walk in pairs when they solicit church members or followings. But on this night, two of them knocked at our door and my wife invited them inside for the night air being so cold. The two guys were standing and I knew by their name tags what church affiliation they were pushing, so I just told them in a firm-but-civil tone, we aren't interested in your presentation. I do not want you to waste your time with us for I am very content with Jesus, being my Lord and Savior and a Relationship with Him is much more important than a religious tape that one guy wanted to show us.
I did not use any profanity. Just solid wisdom. And when they left, I wished them a safe and warm night. And in that same moment of them walking out of our house, I could hear my dad and how he would have sat me down to lecture me for never turning people away or the Law will hear of it and "we" will be in trouble. Bless his heart. My dad feared the Natural Law of The Land more than the Word and Commandments. I am not lying.
So here we are with that one encounter that I wanted to share with you. Now I would love to ask you a sensitive question: if, during my dating years, I had presented myself as a very confident, sharp-dressed guy who was his own guy, would I have had more dates? You do the math. Of the two, Kevin "Doug Heffernan" James or Brad "Oceans 11, Rusty" Pitt, would you go out with? My bet is Pitt for he not only dresses nice and looks nice, but he, like Dr. Thompson, takes no crap. Not even his "Ex," Angelina Jolie. I would, in the old days, write you a list of 10 people would would not take crap, but those days are history.
I do not advocate being a wild gorilla on speed in public, no, I am far from being that "out there." I am chasing a personal theory that I can live a happy life and not have to tell stupid jokes, stories, and act the role of an idiot. I know that unless an idiot is using funny material, the only thing he will get is asked to go home.
And at my age now, 64, I know that I will never be the man with several gifts like Frank Sinatra who could just say hi to a waitress and she would faint. That kind of charisma. I would just love to be respected by those around me and I should add to this narrative that I am in no way begging for your support or sympathy, just wanting to start anew and hopefully my materials will generate some monthly cash for yours truly. I can surely use it.
I will go as far as to say that I do not want to be looked upon as George Peppard, the Hollywood legend who portrayed, "Jonas Cord," in "The Carpetbaggers," and "Hannibal Smith," on "the A-Team," can you tell me of any other guys besides Sinatra or any of his Rat Pack, who could just waltz into the lobby of some expensive hotel and the manager comp him for a week's lodging. That kind of guy.
They are few and far between. Believe me, I've looked.
Before I say so long to Peppard and "Cord," if you were among the millions who enjoyed the lovely Carroll Baker and Martha Hyer, then the "new me" will make this statement and offend none of the readers. How about that Baker and Hyer? I would have loved to been born in the era where these Hollywood icons were at their peak. What a great time for a man like "the new me" to live in America.
And while I am somewhat entertained by the comical observations of one Jerry Seinfield, I would not want to sit up a few nights and write enough smug remarks to try and impress a pretty girl whom I had just met in a CVS Pharmacy. There's just not enough time. I will cause a metamorphosis in my personality from a stupid, cloddish, living punching bag for all guys to use for practice--and when girls look my way, I will be a man of power, strength, honor and sensitivity.
So . . .there shall be absolutely NO Richard Simmons, Andrew McCarthy, or Matt Lauer. That's right! I will not do push-up's until I drop or read French poetry whom nobody understands much less cares and I will not have ANY, ABSOLUTELY NO feeling in me to sexually-corral as many female friends as humanly possible. There is just not enough time and I do not have the cash to hire a successful lawyer.
I will strive, study, and strain to become so cool, (like Sinatra), that when I snap my fingers, the adoring females will faint. I will also start using my eye color as a nick-name. "Hey, there goes 'Ol' Hazel Eyes," and the girls will romp across the room just to be seated at my table when I eat my meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans. That is my new meal choices. Pretty healthy, eh? Since I am now wearing a fashionable hat found in the late 40s, those females with a discerning fashion sense will crave to touch my hat that I have laid strategically on my table. Am I a prankster or what?
But . . .there is the very distinct possibility of some new waiter my favorite restaurant has just hired and this new guy doesn't have the sense that God gave a moose carcass, will ultimately say something rude and fresh at me just mentioning in a low tone about my omelet being a tad too tough for my table knife to cut. I will hear this waiter's obviously-rude "huff" as he stomps back to the kitchen to correct my tough omelet. When the new waiter stalks to my table, he is wearing a silly grin, this is a tip-off that I have learned to spot (thanks to my extensive studying of human nature) that means trouble. I can see for myself that this waiter had vengeance in his heart and spit in my omelet, which I will not do until I see the manager.
When the manager arrives, he instantly sees me in a different light. I am stern, brave and not about to apologize for my tough omelet--for God created omelets to have for healthy-minded people to dine on at breakfast or even brunch. The manger calls the new waiter, "Dennis" to my table and lies worse than a prostitute on her first night at work about to be arrested. The manager grins at me and without one question, takes my side and sends "Dennis" packing. Confidentially, I didn't like his smirk when he first came to my table.
Do you see? This is how I will be in public and private from this moment forward. Success without causing trouble. Peace without getting in a fight. And wonderful loving companionship from a female who appreciates the "me" that I became.
But sincerely, ladies and ladies, I am not about to storm at any pretty woman and demand that she let me take her to dinner or maybe to a ballet. I just want to be the "new me" and maybe with what I have learned, have a few years of happiness instead of depression, gloom, and sitting around with thoughts of I wonder why I lost that girl or why didn't I just talk to that girl? No wonder that my mind is very similar to those olden LPs we used to play on turntables and when the needle became worn, many times, the needle would stick and wherever the needle was stuck played over and over until someone unstuck the thing.
Enough. Time for some levity, joy, and not being looked upon as "The Poster Boy for Losers" with a huge photo of myself plastered on every wall in the city. Enough of my life has gone down the drain and I was fool enough to watch it drain out. This is very much in the same venacular of some fool pouring a flammable liquid into a stranger's car, setting it afire and sitting on his stupid butt to watch it burn.
This, friends, is total insanity. A sign that the "old me" has jumped on the final freight train going west. The "new me" is standing here by the tracks watching him leave.
© 2018 Kenneth Avery